


are you ever coming home?

by soperiso



Category: Fantastic Four, Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Frat Boy Flash Thompson, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Model AU, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Roommates, Slow Burn, Spideytorch Week 2020, i made them models, if it all goes to plan, sorry petey but you’re a weakling again, spideytorch - Freeform, that’s right, they’re in college, you know i had to do it to ‘em
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25565875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soperiso/pseuds/soperiso
Summary: The woman turns to Peter, her stare becoming critical. She hums. “I always have loved a good ‘ugly duckling’ case.”Peter gapes. She didnotjust say that.“Tell me,” she looks down at her clipboard, “Peter. How much effort do you put into your appearance?”“Uhm, none? Well, like, the bare minimum amount of effort.”“So this is you at your worst?”Peter scratches the back of his neck, “I guess?”She nods. “Good, you’re in.”—Or, Peter and Johnny fall in love for the 8000th time. Only, this time, they’re models. Get ready for a lot of pining, whining, and laughter because these idiots are a whole ass mess.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Johnny Storm
Comments: 50
Kudos: 104
Collections: SpideyTorch Week 2020





	1. no plan, no race to be run

**Author's Note:**

> let’s goooooooo

Peter Parker is not vibing, if he’s being honest.

It’s a typical Tuesday morning; he’s got a lecture at nine o’clock, followed by yet another soul-crushing shift at Joe’s Pizza. It’s not that the job itself is terrible, it’s the whole time-management thing that’s giving Peter grief. He’s still trying to figure out how to balance work, school, and his (pitiful) social life, all with having nearly no money to his name. 

Peter steps into the subway, making his way down the stairs and through the twist-gates. Stepping past bits of discarded trash, he wrinkles his nose at the stench that every single subway seems to carry. He accidentally steps right into a mysterious puddle, grimacing as he feels his foot get wet. He really, _really_ hopes that it was just water. Shaking his foot out, he resumes his trudge through the station. He slides through the doors of his train at the last moment and stands in the middle of the car, holding the grab bar since there are no empty seats.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, internally groaning at the multiple missed texts from MJ Watson, his best (and only) friend:

_hey so you’re coming to the open call with me, right?_

_pete_

_pete_

_peter_

_you can’t ignore me forever_

Peter taps out a response:

_mj, i’ve told you a billion times. i. have. no. interest. in. modeling. have you seen me? have you seen my face?_

Her response comes nearly instantaneously:

_i have seen it, surprisingly._

_it’s a good face._

_ok, how about you just come as emotional support?_

Peter huffs:

_you have never, not once in your life, needed emotional support at an audition_

His phone pings:

_c’mon_

_please_

_for me?_

Peter taps his foot against the ground, considering. He looks down at his phone, then at the Nordstrom’s ad on the other side of the car. Models probably get paid pretty well, he thinks. And, really, how hard can it be to sit in front of a camera? If he even gets picked, that is. Which, he probably won’t. He’ll just go, cheer MJ on, and go back to his normal routine. And if he _does_ get picked, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. 

_fine, i’ll go. you win._

He places his phone back in his pocket, ignoring MJ’s excited texts.

It’s not long before he arrives at his stop and begins his walk up to Empire State University. He might actually be on time, for once. He’s pretty sure Professor Warren will end his life if he’s late again. Peter wishes he was joking.

He makes it to his lecture with five minutes to spare (nearly a record!) and takes a seat, his computer balanced on his lap. For an hour-and-a-half, his mind is occupied by his professor’s voice and the tap-tapping of his fingers against his keyboard as he takes thorough notes.

He nearly breaks down in tears when Professor Warren assigns a twenty-page paper, due next week. On top of everything else he has from his other classes, that’s… a lot. It’s fine, though, because Peter is definitely on top of everything. Oh, who’s he kidding? He’ll be writing that paper the night before it’s due with only the power of caffeine and his inability to quit. 

After the lecture, Peter packs his belongings and waves his thanks to Professor Warren. He has a shift at Joe’s Pizza in a few minutes, so he speedwalks out the doors of the university and onto a bustling New York street. 

“Parker! About time you got here,” Joe chides as Peter enters the little pizza shop. 

“But, sir, I’m on time.” 

Joe checks his watch. “Huh,” he says, “Either way, you’re wasting time just standing there. Get to work!”

“Alright, I’m going,” Peter lifts his hands in a placating manner. “Yeesh,” he mutters, too quiet for Joe to hear.

The shift is fine, if mind-numbingly boring. It’s the same thing every day: make pizza, get yelled at by Joe and/or unsavory customers for whatever reason, repeat. It’s boring. Peter welcomes the end of it with open arms, pushing away the thought that he’s leaving only to come back tomorrow.

—

Peter looks down at his phone, checking the address MJ sent him for the hundredth time. _This is definitely it,_ he thinks, scanning the outside of the building for his friend and finding no trace of her.

Figuring he’ll find her inside, he pushes through the door and into the building. The interior is warm, a nice break from the autumnal cold that seems to seep into Peter’s bones.

MJ is waiting for him by a booth, her arms crossed and her fingers drumming idly against 

her arm. She perks up when she sees him. “Hey, Tiger. For a second there, I thought you weren’t gonna make it.”

“Whaaaat?” Peter places a mock-offended hand on his chest, “As if I’d ever miss a date with my favorite girl!”

MJ laughs. “Settle down, charmer. We both know this isn’t a date because, if it was, you’d have brought me flowers. Also, I happen to have standards.”

Peter makes a noise of indignation.

MJ continues, “I already got our numbers: 134 and 135. They said we’re supposed to go sit in a room and wait.” She gestures to a door, to which the room must belong.

“Hold up—Did you just say 134? As in, there are 133 people ahead of us?” His eyebrows inch up his forehead with every word.

“Yup.”

“And we have to wait through all of them?”

“Yup.”

“Oh, my God,” Peter groans, placing his head in his hands.

MJ nods, solemnly. “Yup.”

They move into the room, taking a seat on two of the many chairs. There are so many beautiful people there, it’s insane. Peter has no chance when going up against these guys. 

He picks at a hole in his jeans, feeling horribly out of place alongside the plethora of collared shirts and mini skirts. He’s just some poor kid from Queens, he shouldn’t be here. Peter’s the type of guy who’s meant to be behind the camera rather than in front of it.

MJ, on the other hand, looks as though she was _born_ to be here. She’s drop-dead gorgeous. Peter knows that she’ll thrive in this industry; she’s got the talent and the fire. He can’t wait to see her face on billboards. 

People move in and out of a room down the hall, some looking dejected while others are overjoyed. A select few walk out with a swagger and a smirk, clearly happy with themselves. Peter can’t help but think that they look ridiculous. 

MJ’s leg is bouncing subtly, as though she’s trying to hide it. Peter doesn’t know what she’s worried about—she’ll get in, no question.

He nudges her shoulder. “You’re gonna do great.”

She gives him an easy smile, her leg stilling. “Oh, I know.”

Peter doesn’t press it, accepting that she’d rather hide behind a facade of confidence than admit to her whatever nervousness she’s feeling. 

They wait. And… they wait. They wait for so long that Peter’s sure he’s going to spontaneously combust at, like, any moment. He fills the time by switching between talking to MJ and working on his various assignments. He changes positions on his chair at least five times, never quite getting comfortable. The nerves aren’t helping. He doesn’t really care if he gets in or not, but he’s still nervous. Smooth brain, no thoughts, only dumb human reactions.

Looking up from his computer, he notes that the light outside has turned from blue to orange.

“134 and 135,” a man calls, “You’re up.”

Peter slumps over in relief and picks up his things, following MJ into the room that the others had gone in and out of. Waiting for them is a woman, tall and severe. Her hair is pulled into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, and she’s wearing a suit that’s probably worth more than two of Peter’s paychecks.

She fails to introduce herself, jumping right into analyzing MJ. Steeling herself, MJ lifts her chin and lets her arms fall down to her sides.

“Oh, you’re in,” the woman decides.

MJ tries to hide her joy, but Peter can see right through her; she’s ecstatic.

The woman turns to Peter, her stare becoming critical. She hums. “I always have loved a good ‘ugly duckling’ case.”

Peter gapes. She did _not_ just say that.

“Give me a three-sixty.” She indicates a circle with her finger.

Peter complies, giving her a slow turn.

“Nice ass,” she mutters.

Peter turns scarlet while MJ laughs into her hand.

“Tell me,” she looks down at her clipboard, “Peter. How much effort do you put into your appearance?”

“Uhm, none? Well, like, the bare minimum amount of effort.”

“So this is you at your worst?”

Peter scratches the back of his neck, “I guess?”

She nods. “Good, you’re in.”

Peter’s brain goes blank for a minute, all TV static. “What.”

She raises one eyebrow. “I said: you’re in.”

Peter honestly didn’t expect this. He expected to be turned away with cruel laughter, not to be welcomed in with, well, cruel laughter.

“How much does it pay?” He asks.

MJ pinches the bridge of her nose, her hair falling around her hand.

“Enough,” is all the woman says.

Well, that’s vague. It’s better than the pizza place, though, which is definitely not paying him ‘enough’. 

“And the hours?” Peter asks, “Is this a nine-to-five thing, or is it more flexible?”

If he’s really going to do this, he might as well have all the information.

“So many questions. No issue, I have all the answers. The hours are sporadic, not ‘flexible’. You have a shoot when you have a shoot. _When_ you have a shoot, however, is up to you.”

Peter nods in understanding. 

“Now, we must cover the topic of housing. I trust you both have a current place of residence, yes?”

Peter and MJ both give an affirmative nod and hum. 

“How do you feel about changing that place of residence?”

At their confused looks, she adds on: “We have model apartments specifically for people like you. It’s meant to help ease your financial burden; the rent is cheaper than your average apartment. You will have many roommates, all fellow models.”

Peter loves living with Aunt May, but it’d be nice to have a place of his own. He doesn’t want to keep being a burden to her; she should be able to live out the rest of her life without worrying about him.

“How long before we can move in?” He asks.

“You could move in tomorrow, if you so choose.”

“Would we be in the same apartment?” MJ asks. 

“No, apartments are split by gender.”

Peter and MJ share a disappointed look. 

Sensing that they need a moment, the woman exits the room. “I’ll get the paperwork,” she says. 

“Sucks that we can’t room together,” Peter says, “None of them are gonna like my jokes as much as you do.”

“Pete, honey, I don’t like them either.”

“What? Really?”

“I think this could be a good thing,” MJ says, changing the subject, “We’ll make connections.”

Peter gives her a Look, but goes along with it. “Yeah, I guess. It’ll be good for me to get out of May’s hair.”

MJ laughs. “For real, you’ve been living with your aunt _forever_. I was wondering when you’d finally move out. Kind of expected it to be after college, if I’m being honest.”

Peter huffs, “I would’ve moved out before then.”

MJ raises an eyebrow.

“Alright, you may have a point.”

She smirks triumphantly. Peter rolls his eyes, fondly.

The woman—Peter should really learn her name—returns with a bunch of papers. She hands them to MJ and Peter, along with two pens. “These are all of the pages you need to sign, both for joining the agency and for the apartments.”

Scanning through the papers, he half-heartedly makes sure that he’s not signing onto anything sketchy. Figuring that he should be fine, Peter scrawls his messy signature across every line on which it’s requested before handing the papers back to her.

She takes them with a nod, tucking them under her arm so she can take MJ’s as well.

“That will be all,” the woman says, “You will receive an email with everything you need to know about the apartments shortly. The exit is to your left. Good day.” With that, she leaves.

MJ walks towards the exit, a slight bounce in her step. Peter follows with less pep. 

“See,” MJ grins over her shoulder, “Aren’t you glad you came? You’ve got a whole career awaiting you, Tiger.”

Peter laughs. “I don’t know about _that_ , but it might be alright.”

“Alright?” MJ parrots. “This is going to be the time of our lives! Just think of all the celebrities we’ll get to party with,” she sighs wistfully, “I wonder if I’ll ever meet Michael B. Jordan.”

Peter hums. “That would be a dream come true.”

MJ opens the door to the dark—when did it get so late?—street, holding it open for Peter. “Do you think he’s as muscly in real life as he is on screen?”

Peter nods his thanks. “Oh yeah, for sure. I bet he’s even more muscly. I bet he has so many muscles.”

MJ lightly whacks him on the arm, following him out onto the sidewalk, “Don’t patronize me. I’m yearning here.”

Peter gasps, making a show of clutching his arm, “My arm! My… my feelings.”

She laughs, “You’re fine, drama king.”

“You wound me!” He howls, startling a few passers-by.

MJ whacks him again, harder. 

“Hey! That one actually hurt!” Peter says, rubbing his arm.

“Good.”

“Oh, hey, this is my turn,” Peter gestures to the street to his right, “You good walking the rest of the way by yourself, or do you want me to come with?”

MJ winks. “I think I’ll be alright. Call me tomorrow, yeah?”

“Of course. I can’t wait to hear about your fun times with Michael B. Jordan,” he teases.

“Oh, my God, Parker,” she turns and starts walking away.

“You know I love you!”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get mugged on your way home.”

Peter mock salutes at her back. “Will do, Mary Jane.”

Her quiet laughter echoes in the street.

Peter grins, spinning on his heel and continuing on to Aunt May’s.

Maybe MJ’s right; maybe this _will_ be the time of his life.


	2. open heart, open mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets a bunch of _eccentric_ new roommates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a new chapter, right on schedule! i hope you enjoy!

Packing up is never fun.

Sure, it’s nice to go through old things and relive memories long forgotten, but it’s mostly tedious. At least it’s not like he’s moving out of a home he’ll never return to; he can always come back to Aunt May’s house, so he doesn’t have to worry about accidentally forgetting something and never seeing it again. With that in mind, he makes quick-ish work of gathering his necessary belongings into a pair of scratched-up old suitcases.

He takes two trips to get everything downstairs, with a teary-eyed Aunt May watching him over her mug of steaming tea.

Dropping the second suitcase by the door, he places his hands on his hips and sighs. He turns to face Aunt May, offering her a nervous smile.

She gets up and moves to stand in front of Peter, a gentle hand cupping his jaw. “Look at you, fleeing the nest,” she pulls him into a hug, “Don’t forget about your dear old aunt when you’re off partying with those models and celebrities.”

He laughs over her shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze. “As if I could _ever_ forget about you, pretty lady. Sorry, but you’re stuck with me.”

“There are worse people to be stuck with,” she jokes, her voice thick.

“Hey, hey,” he pulls back, hands on her shoulders, “I’m still going to visit. I’m going to visit so often you’re going to have to beg me to leave.”

“I know, it’s just,” she pauses, giving him a watery smile, “You’re all grown up. Look at you! Ben would be so proud. So would Richard and Mary. Oh, Peter, they’d all be so proud of the young man you’ve become.”

Peter’s breath hitches, his throat growing tight. _Come on,_ he thinks, _you’ve got to stay strong for her._ “I have you to thank. For everything.”

She waves him off. “You have yourself to thank.”

At his look, she adds, “Okay, maybe I helped a little bit.”

He pulls her into another hug. “You helped a whole lot. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she steps back, wiping her eyes, “Alright, now, off you go. You’ve got places to be and people to meet.”

Gripping the handles of his suitcases, Peter walks out the door. He pauses, looking back. Aunt May smiles at him, making a shooing motion with her hands. Peter chuckles softly before looking forward and beginning his trek to the subway station. It’s not goodbye, not really. 

That’s the only reason Peter can walk away.

—

Peter’s nervous, and it’s not the cutesy ‘butterflies in your stomach’ type of nervous. It’s the sweaty palms, shaky breaths, and ‘overthinking to the point of near mental breakdown’ type of nervous. 

He’s been standing outside of the door to the apartment for five whole minutes, unable to bring himself to knock. This is a big step—like, a _major_ step. Not only is he moving out of his childhood home, but he’s also meeting a bunch of new people and entering a famously terrifying industry. All at once. 

He could back out and return to his normal routine, but… he doesn’t want that. The thought of letting his youth pass him by with nothing more than a single friend and a college degree to show for it is… unappealing… to say the least. So, for all his nervousness, he’s going to carry on. 

It’s probably all in his head, right? He’s going to be fine. Probably. But what if he isn’t? What if he walks in there and they don’t want anything to do with him? What if he never gets hired for a single shoot? What if this turns out to be majorly terrible in every possible way?

He takes a deep breath. But what if it doesn’t?

Standing up straight and trying to make it seem like he _hadn’t_ almost had a panic attack on their doorstep, he raises a fist to knock on the door. 

Nothing happens. Then, he hears the sound of something crashing from inside, accompanied by shouting. Yikes.

A bulky man opens the door. He looks like one of those frat boys Aunt May warned him about. Is this a fraternity? Is he becoming a frat boy? 

“Yo!” The man sounds like a frat boy, too. “New roomie!”

Peter’s halfway through saying hello when the man hooks one arm around his shoulders to give him a noogie. His brain short-circuits for a second, because _wow_ does that bring him back to his high school days.

A voice carries over to them through the doorway. “Flash, leave him alone. Some people don’t enjoy being assaulted as soon as they walk through the door.”

Flash stops but keeps an arm around Peter’s shoulders. Peter looks into the apartment to see a snobby-looking man perching on the armrest of a couch. He doesn’t have waves, which Peter thinks is nice because waves are a truly terrible fashion choice if you’re a skinny white boy. Instead, his hair is loose and flowing. It’s brown with a red tint, as though it was dyed rather than naturally brown. 

The man gives him a two-finger salute. “Osborn,” he introduces himself, “Harry Osborn.”

Flash exaggeratedly rolls his eyes. “Oh my God, stop, you’re not James Bond.”

“Fuck you, I can be James Bond if I want to.”

Flash scrunches his nose. “Can you, though?”

Harry scowls and chucks a pillow at Flash’s head. It misses its mark, hitting Peter on the forehead and bouncing lifelessly onto the floor. 

Peter glances down at the pillow. Huh. 

Harry pushes himself up off of the couch, striding over to stand in front of Peter, who is still trapped in Flash’s death grip. Harry holds out a hand. “Welcome to Hell, we have cookies.”

Peter lifts his own hand to grasp Harry’s in a hesitant handshake. “It’s, uh, good to be here?”

Behind Harry, another man enters the room from what appears to be the kitchen. “Harry, stop, don’t turn him evil.” Stopping to lean on the wall opposite the window, he nods at Peter. “Hi, I’m Johnny.”

Peter just stares, because _holy shit._

Johnny’s _beautiful_.

He’s soft—almost feminine—but he’s got an edge to him. He glows golden in the sunlight streaming through the window, his eyes lightening to a striking blue that somehow manages to be both intimidating and welcoming.

“Uh, I’m Peter,” he stutters, “I’m new here.”

Johnny offers him an effortless grin. “I can see that.”

They stare at each other for a moment, until Flash’s loud voice cuts through the silence. “Okay, so, this is everyone. Everyone knows each other now, which is good.”  
  


“Wait,” Peter says, “There’s only four of us? I read online that model apartments usually have, like, seven people living in them.”

Johnny shrugs. “Not this one.”

“What, do you want there to be more?” Harry asks, incredulously.

Peter shakes his head. “No way, are you kidding? Four people are good. Four’s a good number because it’s even, so no one’s left out. You know what else comes in fours? A pack of beer if the company’s trying to scam you out of your money by selling you fewer beers for the same price as a six-pack.” Peter pauses, realizing that everyone’s staring at him. He chuckles nervously, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “I’m… rambling. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, little buddy! I talk a lot too, so these two have learned to deal with it.” He gestures to Harry and Johnny.

Harry pinches the bridge of his nose as Johnny offers Peter a little smile.

Peter smiles back, hoping that the wave of heat that passes through his heart isn’t showing on his cheeks. He really needs to get this little... _whatever it is_ under control if he’s going to be able to function around Johnny. It’s ridiculous, it’s almost like he has a _crush_ , like a schoolgirl. This never happens--he usually thinks someone’s attractive and either bottles up his feelings or asks them out. This, though… this is different. One look at Johnny and he’s a complete mess—he can’t even get a coherent thought out. It’s dumb. This whole thing is dumb.

“So,” Harry begins, examining his fingernails, “Are we going to welcome him in the usual way?”

“Oh, for sure.” Johnny grins.

Peter frowns, “You guys aren’t gonna harrow me or anything, right?”

“Someone’s been watching _The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina,_ ” Flash laughs.

“It’s a good show!”

“We’re not gonna ‘harrow’ you,” Harry says, “But what we have in mind might be just as bad. Grab him, Flash.”

Peter yelps as Flash picks him up in a bridal carry, depositing him onto the couch.

Johnny jumps onto the spot next to Peter, grabbing a remote and turning the TV on. He opens Netflix and types ‘zoo’ into the search bar. For a second, Peter’s scared that he’s going to click on _Zootopia_ , but Johnny stops before he reaches it at _Zoolander._

“Oh, my God,” Peter groans, “You’re joking. Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Not joking,” Johnny says, pressing _play_ , “This is practically a tradition. Don’t hate on traditions, man.”

“I’ll hate on them all I want if they’re _garbage_ traditions,” Peter jokes.

Johnny chuckles, shaking his head. “Shut up and watch the movie.”

_Make me,_ Peter almost says. He doesn’t, though, because he has self-preservation instincts (contrary to what everyone else says). Instead, he relaxes into the softness of the couch and accepts the fact that he’s going to lose a few hundred brain cells tonight. 

Harry’s perched on the armrest again and Peter’s sandwiched in between Johnny and Flash, the latter of which seems to be very… touchy. Not in the ‘easily upset’ way, but in the ‘I am literally never going to stop touching you’ way. Peter doesn’t mind, really. It’s nice that Flash is already so comfortable around him. So, Peter doesn’t say anything when Flash stretches his legs out over Peter’s lap a quarter of the way through the movie. 

Peter glances over at Johnny as Ben Stiller makes a duck face for the 800th time. He’s completely enthralled with the movie, which would concern Peter if it wasn’t so damn cute.

Seriously, though, cute _and_ hot? No man should have both—that’s just unfair.

Eventually, the movie ends and everyone looks at Peter expectantly.

He shrugs. “It was fine. Is that all modeling is, though? You show up, dance around like a monkey, make a duck face, and get paid?”

Flash laughs. “Nope, not at all.”

“Well,” Harry muses, “Maybe the monkey bit. I know I’ve felt like a dancing monkey before.”

Johnny nods, looking as though he’s reliving a particularly bad moment.

“You know,” Peter says, “Nobody’s actually told me what I’m doing here. The lady at the open call was really vague and I haven’t talked to anyone about it since.”

“You’re gonna suffer,” Harry pauses, “But you’re gonna be happy about it. It’s a garbage circus, but we’re the best clowns. You will cry often and probably won’t get paid all that much, at first, but eventually you’ll make it work.”

Peter hesitates, unsure how to react to that statement. “Okay… but what do I _do._ ”

Harry frowns. “I already told you, you suffer.”

Peter gives him a deadpan look.

“Yeesh, Harry,” Flash chuckles, “Pete, listen, it’s not as bad as he’s making it out to be. Sure, it’s not the least stressful career out there, but it’s fun. You get to meet a lot of people and visit cool places. Yeah, you’ll be painfully broke at the start, but eventually you’ll start making bank. You’ll have a good time. That’s what life’s about, right?”

Johnny turns to look at Flash. “Bro, when did you get so wise?”

“I’ve always been wise, bro.”

“Bro.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Are you guys done?”

“Are you mad, bro?”

“Chill, bro, we’re just joshing around.”

Peter laughs. “Oh, my God, I was right. This _is_ a fraternity.”

Johnny looks personally affronted. “You take that back right now. I’m too classy to be a frat boy.”

“You ate uncooked ramen the other day,” Harry points out, a disgusted lilt in his voice, “Chomped on it like a chocolate bar. It was terrible.”

“It’s good! It’s crunchy! Don’t judge me!”

Peter grimaces. “That’s gross, man.”

Johnny turns defensive. “Oh yeah? Well, at least I don’t pair jeans with a science pun t-shirt like a fucking Sim.”

Peter raises his eyebrows. He knows his fashion sense isn’t the best, but _come on._ “A Sim? Did you just call me a Sim?”

“You heard me.”

Peter rolls up his sleeves. He doesn’t care how hot Johnny is, he’s never afraid to drop a bitch. “Alright, Wonder Bread, let’s go.”

“You guys are _not_ going to fight in the middle of the living—” Harry’s cut off by Johnny lunging at Peter and tackling him to the ground.

Harry puts his head in his hands. “Oh, my God.”

Flash covers his mouth with a single surprised hand.

Johnny pins Peter to the ground, which is definitely not good for Peter’s current state of mind (and heart).

They glare at each other. Then, Johnny dissolves into laughter.

“I was really gonna knock your lights out,” he says, his head falling limp over Peter’s chest.

Peter’s laughing, too. “Same, man. Dunno why, the Sim thing was—” he snorts, “—actually kind of funny.”

They both break down into giggles that slowly fade out as they look into each other’s eyes.

Time slows down, for a moment.

Then, Johnny pushes himself back up to his feet, a light smattering of pink across his cheeks. “I’m, uh, going to bed. Good night.”

Harry shrugs. “Night,” he says before heading to his own room.

Flash starts walking to his room but pauses next to where Peter’s still on the floor. He smiles, ruffling Peter’s hair. “Night, new roomie.”

Peter offers him a thin smile. He’s not sure what he did wrong with Johnny. He left so suddenly, but Peter doesn’t know why. Johnny didn’t seem to care about the insults, so Peter can rule that out. What, then, upset him so much? Was it Peter himself? He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’s probably overthinking this, but he can’t _stop_ overthinking it.

_It’s fine,_ he assures himself, _everything’s fine._

But, really, when is anything ever _fine?_

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! i’d love to hear what you think, so feel free to leave a kudos and a comment!
> 
> come hang out with me on [tumblr!](https://soperiso.tumblr.com)


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